Death of the Innocent: aka Mirage
by Angel LeeAnn
Summary: FINISHED! After their failed attempt to bring their son back to life, Marguerite and Roxton struggle to survive their broken hearts.
1. Adam

Title: Illusion

Author: Angel LeeAnn

Summary: They've found their way off the plateau, but everything's not sugar and roses.

Disclaimer: You shouldn't even be here if you don't know this.

**A/N**: I know I said I was going to take a break, but this idea struck me and I was pressured into writing.  Dang it, I'm never going to get my assignment done for my British Literature class that's due August 26!

Chapter One

Adam

Sometimes he wondered if through this dark, forlorn world there was a chance that it was only the shadow of what was really there.  Maybe all the evil and corruption wasn't caused by the human being himself, but by some unseen force pulling the strings.  Then again, this could just be used as an excuse to escape the things that he had done.  Maybe he wasn't willing to accept the fatal mistakes he had committed so he conjured up this cognitive theory of not being in custody of his actions.

_And yet_, he chided to himself, _I don't hold responsibility of Adam's death on anyone but myself._

The incident placed tremendous strain on his marriage.  Even though his wife never came out and directly blamed him, he sensed the accusation in her eyes every time they met his.  She kept insisting with the lame excuse: "The other driver was drunk."  Yet, even she had the unspoken feeling that if he had used their son's car seat, Adam could have possibly been alive today.

Lord John Roxton, who was a top hunter in his earlier days, never felt so impotent in his entire life.  Not even the loss of his brother, William, all those years ago made him feel so numb with agonizing guilt that carved his every breath.  The only reason he continued to get up and go through the routine of the everyday life was because Marguerite needed what little strength he had.

Roxton glanced across the bed where a vacant spot was calling out his name.  All he had to do was move a little to the left and slip an arm around her waist.  Yet, he restrained himself from such a contact and instead clambered out from under the covers, padding his way over to the closet.  His dress blouses hung crisp on the plastic hangers looking almost as new as when he bought them.  He pulled one out along with a brown sport jacket (the one Marguerite had given him last Christmas).

Under the blankets, Marguerite stirred and cracked opened her eyes in time to see her husband disappear into the bedroom's bathroom.  She lay there listening to his silent bustling then heard the shower turn on.  She fought the urge to creep in with him and instead managed to drag her sleep-fogged body to the kitchen.

They had servants at their back and call, but Marguerite preferred to start her day on her own two feet.  It gave her something to do; something to keep her mind from snapping with the thought of her dead son.

Anyway, as it was, they hadn't showered together since Adam died.  They barely even touched anymore as if they were afraid of shattering each other's fragile shells.  In the past five months, subsequent to the accident, they hadn't made love.  There had been one time they had sex, but that was what it was – raw, hungry sex where they ventilated their anger and frustration.  That was three months ago.

A few minutes later, Roxton showed up in the doorway wearing a ghost of a smile as he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame.  He watched Marguerite as she prepared coffee and eggs.  He would've stayed there all day if she hadn't glanced over at him with that raised eyebrow.  "Are you just going to stand there like a sexy idiot or are you going to come and eat?"

A grin teased at his lips as he approached the table.  Time was finally allowing them to heal.  This was the first time she used bantering since their son's death.  He decided to return the favor.  "You're even more beautiful when you're bossy."

Her eyes glazed over with an emotion long sense buried.  A little color even managed to creep its way up her neck.  Then, though, the moment evaporated as the shrill of the telephone interrupted whatever her response was going to be.  She answered the phone on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Lady Roxton?  It has been a long time hasn't it?"

"Who is this?"

"What?  Don't you recognize my voice?"  He chuckled.  "I'll try not to take it offensively due to the fact that it has been half a year since we last spoke.  Yet, I didn't call to have light chit-chat."  His tone dipped to a deathly serious key.  "I believe I have an answer to your recent dilemma.  If you'll only allow me to speak to you and Roxton in person at the east dock precisely at midnight."

Click.

Marguerite dropped the phone on its cradle and stared deadpanned at the marvelous invention.  Her voice was low and menacing as she repeated to Roxton what the caller had said.  Then she added, "I can't believe this!  Why can't they just leave us alone for one stupid moment?  It's probably another bloodsucking reporter!"  Tears swelled and trickled down her face.  "He's dead because of your stupidity!  Just like your brother who you shot!  End of story!"

Roxton flinched as if she had just slapped him.  His voice was quiet, devoid of all emotion expect for anguish.  "You…you blame me for William?"

Marguerite's pain was to heighten to realize the depth of his hurt.  She let out a bitter, hysterical laugh as she stepped forward with accusation written on her face.  "Yes, John, of course I do!  He's dead because you didn't protect him; just like you failed to protect your own child!"

The little piece that was left of John Roxton slipped away as her cruel and damning words rung in his ears with stinging clarity.  His throat was filled with a lump that he didn't even bother trying to swallow away.  Within seconds, silent tears streamed down his face and he turned away.

"I…I guess…I should leave."  Roxton headed towards what used to be their happy bedroom.  Yet, was now where two strangers slept in the same bed, but worlds a part.

The situation sunk in and Marguerite rushed after him, grabbing his arm to stop him from his actions.  "Oh, John, I'm sorry!  I didn't…I didn't mean that."

"You were only speaking the truth.  I killed William and Adam."  He gently pried his arm out of her fingers and backtracked into the living room where he retrieved his coat and went for the door.

"Roxton!" Marguerite cried after him.  "Where are you going?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know."  Then he slipped out the door.

Marguerite collapsed onto the floor, sobs wrenching through her body.  She hated the unfairness of it all.  Yet, the worse was the loss of her baby boy and now her husband…who she, herself, pushed away.

End Chapter One

So, what do you all think?


	2. Hope

Chapter Two

Hope

Part One

As Marguerite approached the dock, she noticed a tall, broad man with slumped shoulders standing in the moonlight.  She walked over to him and the weary couple stood rigid against the bitter bite of frozen wind as it whipped across their faces and tried to embrace their shivering bodies.  

Roxton glanced nervously at Marguerite every now and then to reassure himself that he wasn't standing out there in the nippy, murky dock on his own.  She was so quiet and unresponsive to all her surroundings.

A man emerged from behind a pile of crates; shadows like a cat getting prepared to pounce.  He was dressed all in black with a smooth face and sparkling green eyes.  He scanned them over before braking into a grin.  "Finally, I've been so anxious about this meeting.  It's great to see you again."

Roxton nodded tersely.  "And the same towards you I suppose, but I must admit I hardly remember you."

The man waved him off.  "That isn't what is important at the moment."

Marguerite shifted and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.  "It's cold and I'm miserable so can we cut to the chase as to why you dragged us out here in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Lady Roxton.  What I called you out here for is to discuss the possibility of bringing back your little boy."

Roxton stepped forward with rage and a little glimpse of hidden hope.  "Who the hell do you think you are?  Our son is dead.  I was there when it happened.  I held him as he died.  You can't bring him back!  You are full of shit and the cruelest person I have ever known to try and play such a devilish joke on grieving parents!"

"Lord Roxton, quite on the contrary.  Your son maybe resting at the moment, but his body is still salvageable.  I've been working on this new experiment that can possibly bring the dead back to the living."  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope.  "Here, read through these.  I'll be in touch."  He turned swiftly to leave.

"Wait!" Roxton called after him, his voice cracking.  "You can't bring people back from the dead no matter what you try."

The man grinned mischievously.  "Lord Roxton, on the plateau anything is possible."  Then like a gust of wind, he was gone.

Part Two

In the documents where astounding outlines of a secret discovery made by a Doctor Christopher Burns, the man they had met at the docks.  He and a crew of eleven other men had journeyed to the elusive plateau in search of a rare herb that was said to heal the deadliest of illnesses.  Burns had altered the herb and through countless years of trials and errors was able to bring a mouse back to life.

Burns' scientists had stolen Adam's body from his coffin the day he was to be buried and placed him in a well-preserved tank housed in a cave on the plateau.  He had respected the Challenger Expedition; and was linked to the Roxton family in a way that was never allowed to be known.  Yet, his secret loyalty was so binding that he wanted only to try and ease the pain and suffering of Roxton and Marguerite.  And of course win world fame for cheating death of its prize.

The catch was that Adam would have to remain on the plateau for his body would deteriorate rapidly outside the mystical grounds and without the daily dosage of the herb.  Another catch was that he would need vital transfusions from his father such as blood, tissue, and bone marrow.  There was a high risk that never of them would make it through the surgery.  These sort of extensive procedures were new to the 1930s and very experimental, even shunned by many.

Yet, it had only taken Roxton a mere week to agree to the operation.    

End Chapter Two

Well…I wouldn't mind some feedback.  Honestly I wouldn't. /smiles/ And if you're going to send fire and brimstone, please at least be a little nice about it.  I know this is a very implausible scenario, but isn't everything in the _Lost World_?


	3. Back to the Plateau

Chapter Three

Back to the Plateau

Part One

Marguerite watched as Roxton packed his bags.  Anger rolled around in the pit of her stomach, making her nauseous.  How dare he go through with this?  Rage blinding her, she shoved the Victorian lamp off the nightstand.  "Damn it," she cried.  "Why are you doing this?  Dr. Burns's claims aren't based on _anything_!"

Roxton calmly took his wife into his arms and guided her away from the shards of glass.  "I have to do this, Marguerite.  If there were only a one-percent chance of a thousand that this would work, I would still do it.  We're talking about bringing Adam back to us," he pleadingly hissed, begging for her to understand.

Marguerite shoved his hands away and marched over to the large window.  Gazing out into the foggy night she felt a sense of foreboding cling to her bosom.  "John," she murmured.  "How can you even believe that this'll work?  You can't bring someone back from the dead.  It just can't be done.  Not even on the plateau."

"We've seen much stranger things, Marguerite."  He zipped up the last of his luggage and peered around the room that now seemed so barren.  "I just can't pass it up based on the slightest of chances that it may bloody well work."  He hesitantly approached her like a wrongful child would to a parent.  "I know you don't want to go back there."

She whirled on him, her eyes flashing.  "That isn't what this is about, but, you're right, I don't want to go back to the damn plateau.  But I would without a moment's breath if I truly believed that I could get my baby back.  But I don't believe it.  It's inconceivable that Dr. Burns can do what he claims."

"Inconceivable, but not necessarily impossible," Roxton whispered.

Marguerite sighed, turning her back to him once more.  Her bags were already packed and waiting for her done in the foyer.  She cringed at the mere thought of returning to the plateau, but knew that she had no choice.  She couldn't possibly let Roxton go alone.  And, if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to take the risk that Burns could do what he said and that she wouldn't be there for when her son woke up.

Part Two

They barely spoke a word to each other on the plane, both swimming through their own sea of emotions and fears.  When they landed, Burns guided them to a camp where he dropped them off at their sleeping quarters with the promise of returning in a few hours after they settled in.

Marguerite didn't bother unpacking.  She was determined to leave as little evidence of herself here as possible; and if for some reason she would be staying longer than expected, she had every intention of going to the tree house she had lived in for the five years she was imprisoned here.  In actuality, she wanted to venture up that way regardless as to how this expedition turned out.  It would be good to see Veronica and Malone again.

When they had finally discovered the doorway off the plateau, Malone had struggled with his conflicting emotions for a matter of seconds before declaring to the rest of the group that he wanted to stay here with Veronica, who had no interest in disturbing her way of life.  It was difficult to leave the two behind, never knowing if they would ever meet up again.  But, miraculously, the doorway they had found was a permanent one and on special occasions, Ned and Veronica Malone would come for visits.

The last time she had seen them was at Adam's funeral.  Challenger had sent them a message a couple days before the funeral and the two had arrived as quickly as they could, sneaking into the church an hour into the service.  It was weird having the entire gang of explorers back together and she could only have wished that it were under better circumstances.  Yet, she was comforted by their presences, even Finn's (who lived with Challenger as his unofficial adopted daughter).

Burns popped his head into the tent flap.  "Dinner is ready, Lord and Lady Roxton.  I suggest, Lord Roxton, that you eat a bountiful meal.  Tomorrow we begin our procedure.  I will explain it in more detail after we eat."  His head disappeared from view not waiting for acknowledgement; only assuming his announcement didn't fall on deaf ears.

Roxton glanced at Marguerite, his eyes softening into an emotion she had never seen before.  "Well, Marguerite, whatever it is, it must be better than anything you cook up."  He slipped from the tent before she could respond.

End Chapter Three

On Chapter Three and still no reviews!  Is it really that terrible?  You can be honest.


	4. Broken Pieces

Chapter Four

Broken Pieces

Part One

Her heart twisting, Marguerite paced the length of the mouth of the cave, chewing on her lower lip and nervously fidgeting her fingers.  A shadow fell across her and she spun around, peering anxiously up at her husband.  "John," she murmured, her eyes pleading for him.  _You better come back to me._

He gazed at her for a fleeting moment before drawing her into a tight embrace, crushing her frail body against his solid one.  "More likely than not, I will survive, but our attempts at bringing Adam back will fail."

"I know, but," she squeezed her eyes shut, "I appreciate we get the opportunity at another chance.  I just pray that it works."

"If it doesn't, we've lost nothing that we didn't already have.  And we'll still have each other," he bent down, cupping her slender face in his large hands and placed a gentle, but deep kiss on her soft lips.

"It's time, Lord Roxton," one of the technicians interrupted briskly.

Roxton shifted back, grasping her small hands.  He gazed intensely at her before walking back, their fingers slowly pulling apart.  'I love you', he silently mouthed before slipping into the heart of the cave.

Part Two

In the mid-afternoon sun, Marguerite sighed and brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face as the breeze swept it across her eyes.  She gazed out across the yard where a little boy wobbly ran gaily after a butterfly.

Thinking of her husband, as she often did during the bleak days, brought salty tears to her eyes that she quickly wiped away.  She missed him with every heartbeat.  He hadn't pulled through, but instead had slipped into a coma and never regained consciousness.  Marguerite had taken him to the tree house and spent hours on end sitting with his nearly lifeless body, urging him to wake.  She wondered if he could even here her desperately begging to the God who had shunned her from His miracles.

A squeal brought her attention back to the little toddler.  He was a happy, loving innocent two-year old, unbothered by the harsh world around him.  Marguerite rose to her feet, desperate to be away from the happiness of the child, and disappeared back into the tree house.

Veronica, who had been quietly sitting beside the heiress, helplessly watched her friend slink away.  She glanced back at the little boy and sighed.  She knew it was difficult for Marguerite to interact with him, but she did make a few hearted attempts now and then for the benefit of the rest of them.  Veronica could only hope that one day Marguerite would be able to overcome the pain and live again.

"Come here sweetie," Veronica called out to him.  "We're going to make lunch for Aunt Marguerite."

End Chapter Four

**Velma-Kelly-online**:  Thank you so much for your passionate reviews!  All three of your reviews were greatly appreciated.  And in response to a certain detail you mentioned, there will be a surprise around the corner.  **Spirita**:  As usual, your reviews are welcome.  Thank you so much.  **TheChosenOne3**:  Always the voice of inspiration.  In how many different ways can I say 'thank you'?  **LoveMR**:  You make my day with your reviews.  **SierraSunshine**:  I wish I could screw my British Literature assignment, but the world isn't that fair.  Lol.  **Mary**:  Well, you're question was answered.  You're favorite characters have a son of their own!  **NLD_diva**:  I hope you didn't get impatient.  Thank you for your review.  **Brainfear**:  I hope I keep up the streak, too, but _after_ I finish my work.  Lol.  **Pamiekae**:  I know what you mean.  I sometimes take a while getting around to reading, too.  Thank you ever so kindly for your review.  **Everyone**:  If I missed you, I'm sorry, but these were the names that were posted at the time I wrote this.  Thank you, anyway; even if you don't post a review, I'm glad if you like it enough to read it.      


	5. Tears of Rage

**A/N**:  You are forewarned that there will be a few curses directed at God.  If you are sensitive to this, I'm sorry.  However, I felt it relevant considering Marguerite's state of mind while in the midst of her torment.

Chapter Five

Tears of Rage

Like the dead, Marguerite wandered into the kitchenette and poured herself a glass of wine.  The red liquid felt smooth and crisp as it slid like acid down her throat.  She staggered into her room, the glass dangling dangerously from two fingertips.  Pausing at the door, she peered around the barren room, her depression melting into righteous anger.  This was the room she had slept in for five years, two of which with Roxton.

Furious at her melancholic life, she threw her half-empty glass, smashing it against the farthest wall.  She rushed over, kicking over a wicker chair and screaming.  Rampant, she slammed her fist into the bedpost, tearing the skin.  Blood seeped unnoticed from the wound.

In an instant, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, dragging her away from the furniture.  "Calm down, Marguerite," Malone ordered, twirling her around and pressing her roughly to him.  "Shh, it's going to be ok.  You're going to be ok."

"No, no, no," she wailed, her knees buckling.  "I want him back, Ned.  I want him back."

Malone smoothed a hand over the back of her head, his other one rubbing her back in small circular motions.  "I know.  I know you do, Marguerite."  He slowly lowered the weeping woman to the floor, never breaking their bound.  "Veronica and I will help you through this.  We're here for you."

Marguerite gazed up at him with haunted eyes.  "I need him, Ned," she rasped, her heart shattering before his eyes.  "I need him," she whispered so faintly he wondered if she said it the second time.  Then she cried until merciful sleep drained her of her energy.

Part Two

She awoke to darkness, sprawled out on her bed in all her clothing.  Disoriented, she struggled to set up, her eyes burning and swollen from her anguished crying hours before.  She staggered to her feet and stumbled out the door and into Roxton's old room.

Her blood ran cold, then turned ice solid in her veins.  "No," she pleaded.  "Please, God, no!"  She rushed forward, her hands reaching to roughly caress her husband's ashen face.  "Damn you," she shrieked, cradling Roxton in her arms and glaring up at Heaven.  "Damn you for doing this to me!  You've taken everything from me!  _Everything_!"

Two worried figures quickly appeared in the doorway.  Veronica came rapidly to her friend's side, her arms encircling the older woman's shoulders.  "Marguerite," she whispered soothingly.  Yet, didn't know how to continue.  She glanced feebly back at her husband and Malone gently nodded his head, stepping over to examine Roxton.

Veronica pried Marguerite away, but the heiress struggled venomously against her.  "Let me go!  _Let me go_!  Damn you, Veronica!  Let me go!  I want to be with him!  Let me hold him!  _Please_!"  She collapsed, sobbing with anguished tears that were torn viciously from her heart.  "Please," she murmured.  "Please let me be with him."

Malone sadly looked over at the suffering woman.  "Sure," he whispered. 

End Chapter Five

**Fab**:  You know I personally wasn't too thrilled about the title either.  Lol.  Yet, at the time I wasn't sure where I was going with this.  I thought about changing it, but that may confuse some people.  Anyway, you're review was so fresh and very much welcomed.  I'm honored that you enjoyed _Paybacks_ to the point that you would trust this story simply because it had my name on it.  You have no idea how wonderfully surprised that made me.  It's stunning.  You truly shocked me.


	6. A Little Light

Chapter Six

A Little Light

The irritating chirping of the birds awoke Marguerite the following morning.  She was haphazardly teetering on the edge of the mattress, her face pressed into the crook of Roxton's neck.  Her eyes were puffy and felt as though someone poured acid into them.  Her muscles stiff, she stretched herself out, wincing in pain as her back protested.

Marguerite hoisted herself up to be face to face with her husband.  She gazed at his pale, expressionless features and felt a tugging in her heart.  She would sell her soul if she could have him back.  Yet, her offer went unwanted for he continued to lie there peacefully.

"You gave me a scare last night," she muttered, her voice scratchy from sleep.  "I swear to God if you ever do that to me again I will kill you myself."  She caressed his cheeks with the back of her hand.

A light tapping against the wooden doorframe drew Marguerite's attention from her lover's face to peer up at her intruder.  She smiled faintly at Veronica.  "He's doing much better this morning.  Some of his color as returned."  Her small smile turned into quivering lips.  "I really thought I had lost him last night.  I couldn't bare the thought.  I've already lost my little boy.  I can't lose him, too."

Veronica quietly came to her side.  "I know, Marguerite."  She gave her friend a gentle hug, sending her an unspoken message of warmth and understanding.  "Why don't you come have breakfast?"

"No.  I want to stay here."

"Marguerite, you need to eat.  You hardly do and it's wearing your body down."  She grinned, yanking Marguerite to her feet.  "Do you want Roxton to wake up to a weak twig?"

"He may never…"

"He will, Marguerite!  You have to believe that he will."

"Oh, you mean like believe that Dr. Burns could have brought my son back to life?  Or that my son wouldn't have died to begin with?"  Marguerite's fury caused her fists to clench and her face brightened with rage.  "He was only two years old, Veronica!  Two years old!  How could God take him from me!"

"God didn't take him from you, Marguerite.  A drunk driver in England did."  Veronica sighed, her eyes betraying her by welling with tears.  "I can't imagine your loss, Marguerite.  I don't even want to.  James is now two years old and I can't grasp what it would be like to lose him.  So I won't lecture you, but I will support you.  Don't give up on, Roxton yet."  Veronica slipped from the room calling over her shoulder, "Breakfast will be ready in ten."

Marguerite gazed at her still husband.  What if he were to die?  The terrible things she had said him.  Marguerite knelt beside the bed, grasping one of his hands in hers.  "I don't blame you for Adam.  I don't blame you for William.  And I'm so sorry I said the things I did.  Just, please, John, come back to me."

To her astonishment, she felt his fingers give a slight pressure in return.

End Chapter Six

**Velma-Kelly-online**:  You always write the most enlightening reviews!  I'm thrilled every time you send one.  Thank _so, so, so_ much!  I can only hope I continue to write to your satisfaction.  **Spirita**:  See, I'm not that cruel.  Not even I could kill off our beloved Lord John Roxton!  Thank you a million for your reviews.  **LoveMR**:  Thank you so much for the compliments!  I really appreciate them.


	7. His Failure

Chapter Seven

His Failure

He was swimming through a murky sea toward consciousness, his determination unwilling to let him succumb to the blankness once more.  His senses slowly began to return, but his mind lagged behind, still wanting to emerge him back into his coma.  Struggling desperately, he finally managed to break loose and felt his eyes painfully cracking open.  A stream of blinding light caused him to snap his lids closed.

"John," he heard a muddled whisper, but the voice was soothing and urging him to respond.  "John, love, please…please open your eyes."

He knew that voice.  Slowly his eyes fluttered open, but only halfway.  He glanced around him and his hazy vision settled on the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  "Mar-guer-ite," he croaked, sending a swift rub of sandpaper down his throat.  He raked his weary eyes over her thin body, taking in the remote changes.  Her hair was unkempt, her weight dangerously low, and there were dark circles painted under her eyes.

"Oh, John, oh my love," Marguerite caressed a soothing hand over his face, her eyes brimming with salty tears.  "I've missed you so much.  Do you need anything?  A glass of water?"

He feebly nodded his head.  When she returned with one, she lifted the cup to his mouth and gently poured the water onto his dry lips.  The water was cool and refreshing, but slid down his unused throat with effort.  Coughing, he pulled his head away and peered up his wife.  "Adam," he mumbled.

Marguerite's heart caught in her throat as she quickly bowed her head.  "No," she murmured.  "It was a ridiculous attempt anyway.  You can't bring someone back from the dead.  It just can't be done."  She set the cup on the bedside table, refusing to meet his eyes.  "But you'll get better and we still have each other."

"Do we?"  He was still a bit sluggish, but his voice was stronger.

Marguerite swallowed the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat.  She brought her hand out as if to smooth away the grief that etched his brow, but drew it back slowly, allowing it to drop lifelessly onto her lap.  "I'm sorry, John.  I'm sorry about the things I said."

"Why," he snapped, turning a bitter look her way.  "You meant them didn't you?  You blame me for Adam's death.  And you even said I killed my brother.  And you meant it.  I know you did."  He bit the inside of cheeks to keep from crying.  "You left me, Marguerite, long before I walked out that door."

Her tears slipped from her liquid hazel eyes, seeping into her shirt.  "Oh, John, I'm so sorry.  I know the void between us was mostly my fault.  And you didn't kill William.  You were trying to safe him.  I know that.  Yet, so help me God, in a partial way I did blame you for Adam.  You should have had him in his car seat, damn it!"  She whirled away from him and heaved a heavy sigh before whispering, "Yet, I still love you."

Roxton looked away, staring out at something that caught his attention on the wall.  He was silent a mournful moment, collecting his thoughts.  "Marguerite, sometimes that just isn't enough.  I love you, too.  I loved you after Adam died, but did that mean anything?"

"I'm here aren't I," she reasoned.  "I couldn't possibly go back to the empty mansion alone."

"Is that what held you back," he spat bitterly.  "I'm sure you could have found some poor chap to take you home!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Where's Dr. Burns?"

"Oh, changing the subjecting!  Fine, he's left.  The bastard vanished three days after the procedure; not even having the decency to remove Adam from the cave.  Malone retrieved his body and buried him inside the fence.  Veronica furnished him a tombstone.  And I wept for weeks!  But not that any of that matters to you!"

"Damn it, Marguerite!  You damn well bloody know that it matters to me!"  He suddenly drew in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut from the pain.  "Go away, Marguerite," he whispered pleadingly.  "I need a moment…alone."

"Fine," she huffed and stormed from the room, blinded by her own agony.

After she had finally left, Roxton's damn burst and he sobbed openly, his heart shattering with every breath.  He had failed his son…twice.  He remembered the first time so vividly and his soul ached, crying out for death.  _Why couldn't it have been me?_

End Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight, _Angels Turned Away_, coming soon!  It will be a flashback sequence.  So be warned.  If you are a _very_ sensitive person, you may want a box of Kleenex.  (That is, if I'm able to do my job as a writer.  I hope to get the emotions across.).

**Velma-Kelly-online**:  What would I do without you?  You're reviews brighten my day and often amuse me.  I love your little addition of Dr. Burns and your mad giggling.  **Fab**:  Yeah, I did leap across the procedure.  I just didn't know how to go about it.  /smiles/ I hope it didn't bother you_ too _much.  **Steffi**:  That was a very sweet review.  Thank you a million.  I'm touched that you enjoyed it so much.  **Zeusfluff**:  Sorry.  I didn't mean to make anyone cry!  I'm glad you're ok with it, though.  **Everyone**: I know I'm missing 2 reviews because on my Stat page it says there are 23, but on the Review Page there are only 21.  FORGIVE ME!


	8. Angels Turned Away

**Important A/N**:  Keep in mind this is the 1930s and child car safety wasn't a big issue.  Most cars manufactured before the 1950s didn't even come with seat belts.  So don't think Roxton was being a bad or careless father.  He was just a man of his time.  Plus, in England, they drive on the LEFT side of the road.

Chapter Eight

Angels Turned Away

Part One

Being a man of independence, Roxton usually preferred to do things on his own: and driving was no exception.  He wasn't one for material endeavors, but he admitted that he loved his brand new 1932 Ford Deluxe Roadster.  Yet, sadly, it was a two-seater.  So they had also bought a 1930 Ford Model A when Marguerite had gotten pregnant, which was in the garage being fixed.  Not wanting to bother the chauffer who drove the limo (he was under the weather), Roxton sighed and bundled Adam up in his down-feather coat.

"Don't forget to get his car seat from the other vehicle," Marguerite called to him from the sitting room.  She was busy organizing the party for Friday's banquet.  The event had come about unexpectedly, leaving Marguerite rushed and irritable.  She only had five days to put together a party suitable for Lady Rebecca Roxton who was visiting from Paris where she lived with her sister since the passing of her husband, Lord William Roxton III.

Roxton waved her off even though she couldn't see it and shook his head amusingly at his son.  "She can bloody well forget that, can't she, Adam?  We're only going a couple blocks away and in my day, there weren't car seats and everything worked out just fine."  He tapped the toddler on the nose with his finger.  "Are you ready to buy grandmother a gift?"

Part Two

By the time they had left the store, the night had turned pitch black and snow fell steadily, blanketing the earth in a thick sheet of white.  Driving slowly through the city, Roxton squinted out of the windshield.  "Damn this blasted London weather."  He glanced at Adam and cringed.  "Don't tell your mother I swore.  But you know," he peered back out the window, "sometimes I miss the old plateau.  It was never cold, expect for when the ice people came crashing to earth causing a short term Ice Age, but that's a whole other issue altogether."

Adam stared at him blankly then crawled onto his knees and reached across the seat to pat his father's cheek.  "Dada, I hungry."

"I _am_ hungry, Adam.  _Am_.  Don't forget your verbs."  He tousled the child's hair, then grabbed his legs and yanked him back onto his behind.  "Stay seated, buddy."  When he peered back out into the night, a pair of headlights danced in his vision.  Roxton glanced slightly to the left to avoid being blinded.  He rarely had time to register when the other vehicle veered off into his lane.

In a split-second, Roxton flung himself over Adam, using his massive body as a human shield as the other vehicle smashed into the Roadster.  The force of the impact sent the car spinning, throwing Roxton off of Adam and slamming him against the driver's door.  In a horrifying moment that would live with him for the rest of his life, the car crashed into a tree and as the passenger side crumbled like paper, engulfing Adam in the twisted metal, the child gave a bloodcurdling shriek that pierced Roxton's heart.

Then all fell deathly silent.

Roxton scrambled across the seat, his hands frenetically searching for his little boy.  "Adam," he called desperately.  "Adam, buddy, I'm here.  Daddy's here.  I'll get you out."  He pried his hand into the wreckage, feeling around until his fingers swept across the fabric of his son's coat.  Adrenaline overflowing, he lifted a hunk of metal, grunting with the effort.

When he managed to create a gap big enough to pull the child out, Roxton reached back in and carefully removed his son.  "Adam," he gasped, staring in panic at the blood that pooled from his head.  "Adam, buddy, can you hear me?"  He pressed his palm against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the life that was seeping out of him.  _Please, dear God, let him live_, he silently pleaded.  _I beg you, don't take him back_.  _Not yet_.   _A parent should never bury their child_.  

Adam stared glassy-eyed up at the sky in shock, his eyes slightly wavering until they settled on Roxton.  "Dada," he whispered before growing still.  Fear clenched Roxton's soul and agonizingly squeezed his heart as he shakily reached to check for a pulse.  Blood gurgled from numerous wounds, soaking the ground crimson beneath the lifeless body.

Roxton cradled his son tightly against him as an excruciating wail was torn from deep inside him.  Not his son.  Not his little boy.  He frantically ran a hand through the toddler's dark hair that was matted in thick blood.  Hot tears burning his eyes, Roxton glared up at the stars through the falling snow and released a scream that sounded like it was wrenched from a tormented animal.  "Damn you," he screeched through his tears.  "_You should've taken me_!"  He rested his head on his son's, rocking them from side to side.  Sobbing he mumbled: "You should have…taken…me."

End Chapter Eight

I didn't accomplish my goal, did I?  This isn't nearly sad enough.  Sorry for the disappointment.  I'll try better next time.

**WARNING: I AM CHANGING THE TITLE!!  NO ONE GET CONFUSED!!  _Mirage_ will be turning into _Death of the Innocent_!  I think it is a much more fitting title.**


	9. A Cry in the Dark

Chapter Nine

A Cry in the Dark

Part One

Marguerite was bustling in her room, trying to soothe her nerves from her argument with Roxton.  The man could be so maddening, but…but she loved him anyway.  He was usually such a gentle, kind, compassionate man, but ever since Adam's death he had pulled into himself.  Roxton had even sat impassive during the funeral, shock preventing him from properly mourning.  Feeling that it was the only way to cope, he continued to bottle his anger inside, allowing it to fester.  In truth, she hadn't seen him cry since the night their son died.  And yet, now, through the thin walls, she could hear the distinct sound of whimpering.

Lord John Roxton was crying.

If there was one sound in the world that sliced her heart it was the agonizing sound of her husband crying.  He'd buried is pain so deep that now his tears were unbearably heartbreaking.  He was crying…sobbing…

Wailing…

Her instinctive urge was to rush over to him and gather him up in her arms, but he had specifically requested that she leave him alone.  Would he be angry with her if she intruded while he was grieving?  Throwing caution to the wind, she slipped out of her room and into his.

He tensed as his senses picked up her presence.  "Leave," his hoarse voice ordered.

"Not a chance in hell," Marguerite retorted, climbing into bed with him and wrapping her arms around his chest.

Roxton was silent for a tense moment before breaking down once more.  "I killed him," he wailed, burying his face into her bosom.  "I can't live with myself.  I don't blame you for hating me.  I killed our baby boy.  What kind of parent kills their child?  I'm a horrible father."

A lump lodged itself in her throat.  Tears streamed unheeded down her face.  She bit her lip until she felt blood flowing into her mouth.  "That's not true, John.  You didn't kill him.  It wasn't your fault.  That drunken bastard took our son away from us.  Not you.  You were a wonderful father.  The best any boy could ask for."

"I miss him so much, Marguerite."

"I know, love, I know.  I do to.  He was such a charming little boy so full of energy and life.  And you aren't the one who took that away.  You're innocent, John."  She rubbed her hands up and down his back soothingly.  "You really are."  In the back of her mind there was a little doubt lingering.  _If he had used the car seat like I'd asked…_

As his tears subsided, he drifted off into a fretful sleep, but Marguerite remained wide awake, thinking back to the time her world had shattered.

Part Two

Flashback

Glancing at the clock, Marguerite felt her irritation level raise another notch.  He had promised to be back to help her with the invitations for _his_ mother's party.  Shoving the last letter into its envelope, she glared at the doorway that led to the foyer.  _Don't think I'll let you have the hook, Lord Roxton._  After all, there was still the matter of decorating detail.  _Not that I want to trust him with **that**._

She glanced over as one of the maids entered the room and smiled sweetly at the young Spanish girl.  "Diana, pongalas alli, por favor," she instructed her, pointing to the coffee table.  

Diana placed her armful of crystal vases where the Lady had requested and stepped back, peering at them oddly.  "Want me help," she asked in broken English.  She had never worked in a home where the Lord and Lady did so much for themselves.  It awed and confused her.

"No, no, Diana, muchas gracias."  Marguerite picked up her notepad and scanned the list, then glanced back up at the maid.  "That's all, Diana.  Gracias."

Diana scurried off in search of other work.

Marguerite scowled at the clock and tapped her pen angrily against the paper.  Where the hell was he?  It was way past Adam's bedtime and the child still needed his bath.  Fuming, she bitterly rose to her feet and headed out of the room.  Passing the foyer she paused, something catching her eye from outside.  Shrugging it off, she was about to continue when a sharp rapping on the door startled her.

Marguerite swung the door open and gasped at the sight of the police officer.  The blood in her ears pounded relentlessly and her breath caught in her throat.  Shaking she stepped back, begging for the man to go away so she wouldn't have to hear his dreadful news.

"Lady Roxton?"

"It's my husband isn't it?"

The officer nodded grimly.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's been an accident.  I'm afraid that…"

"Take me there," Marguerite insisted, pushing passed the officer.

The short ride was bleak, her prays almost feverish.  As they approached the scene, Marguerite's face drained.  She stumbled out of the car, her eyes fixed on the devastation.  Two vehicles were crushed, one of which was plastered to a tree: a black Roadster.  Her eyes fell to the ground beside the wreckage and she forgot how to breathe.

Roxton was on his knees, cradling a little body to him and sobbing.  He was rocking back and forth, ignoring the paramedics that swarmed around him.  From her distance, she could see the pools of dark blood shimmering in the glow of the officer's headlights.  _Oh dear God_.

Marguerite rushed forward in a daze, collapsing onto her knees beside them and tentatively reaching out to stroke her lifeless baby.  Words couldn't describe the utter despair she felt embracing her breaking heart.  Tears blurring her vision, she fell forward at the waist and howled.  Her wails turned into shrieks of anguish and she pounded her bare fists into the snow, scraping her knuckles against the cobblestone underneath.

"_Nooo_," was torn from the depth of her heart.  How could this have happened?  Why must her little boy die when she was so willing to give her life in exchange?  She peered up, her eyes falling on the crinkled automobile and to her horror she noticed in the midst of her suffering that something missing.  She glanced over at Roxton, her heart turning to stone.  "The car seat," she murmured in disbelief.

Beside her, Roxton went on rocking.

End Chapter Nine

**Velma-Kelly-online**: Ah, my ever wonderful reviewer.  I ended up posting two chapters after your Chapter Seven review.  Anyway, let me know if you needed that box of tissues after all.  Like I said at the end of Chapter Eight, I don't think it was sad enough.  **TheChosenOne3**:  That has got to be one of the sweetest reviews I've ever gotten (referring to your Chapter Six review).  "I don't think the TLW community is ready to let you take a break…" was very touching.  I never imagined people would like my work enough to care.  **Steffi**:  Yes, I myself liked the addition of Adam's 'Dada.'  I felt that it really set the scene.  I'm glad you thought so, too.  Anyway, I'm still debating over whether there will be a true happy ending or not.  So be prepared.  **Spirita**:  It means a great deal to me that you like my work so much because I've adored everything I've read of yours thus far.  And I'm thrilled you find this story sad.  That was what I was aiming for.  **EVERYONE**:  Thank you all so much for welcoming me so warmly into the TLW fanfic!  Since writing my premiere, _Trusting Danger_, I've been getting so much support.  **_THANK YOU_**!


	10. Bleak Morning

**A/N**:  I finished my Brit. Lit. assignment!

Chapter Ten

Gray Morning

She woke to an empty bed.  It didn't surprise her that he had snuck out in the wee hours of the morning to exercise.  She knew that was what he did for he had made it a habit the months following Adam's death.  He would release his bent up frustration and sorrow by jogging, doing push-ups, chin-ups, chopping wood, anything that he could throw himself into and break into a sweat; it was for the same reason she had started making their breakfast: had to get their minds off of their loss.

A hammer took to her head as Marguerite half-crawled half-staggered off the mattress and stumbled into the kitchenette.  Veronica was at her easel demonstrating to James how to properly stroke the brush on the canvas.  The child was covered in splotches of green and violet paint, distracted with trying to give his mother a kiss.  Veronica giggled, pulling away from his paint-covered body.

Jameson George Malone was an even mixture of his attractive parents.  He had his mother's elegant bone structure and sparkling ocean blue eyes.  His sandy brown hair and finely shaped nose was his father's.  He had been quite a welcome surprise, Veronica getting pregnant four months after Marguerite.

Marguerite quietly stood aside, a silent witness to the happy moment between mother and son.  She felt sour, jealous of their relationship and joviality.  Marguerite no longer had her precious little boy to give her sloppy kisses or brilliant smiles.  Adam had had the most enduring, charming grin…it was his father's grin (before he had turned mournful): so open and filled with merriment.

"Good morning, Marguerite," Malone said cheerfully as he swept passed her, his arms brimming with firewood.

Marguerite jolted, her eyes flashing first to Malone then Veronica.  "Good morning," she murmured.  "Have any of you seen John?  I thought he was the one who was going to chop the wood this morning."

James twirled around in his chair, his face splattered with various colors.  "He went down there," he pointed a chubby finger down toward what used to be Challenger's lab.

Marguerite gave James a tight, forced smile and nodded.  "Thank you."  She turned and went down the stairs.  "John?"

Roxton, who was perched on a counter, sighed heavily, clasping his hands in front of him and staring at them as though they held the keys to the universe.  "I was going through some of George's old inventions," he mumbled before turning his entire body in her direction, his eyes begging her to understand.  "This isn't working.  We can't keep going on like this."

_Breathe, Marguerite, breath._  "Like what?"

He barked a maniac laugh, hopping off the counter.  "Like what?  Damn it, Marguerite, you know like what.  We walk around on eggshells with each other.  What's the point of this marriage?"

Her throat constricted to the size of a grain of sand.  Her eyes swept across the room until they rested on a family portrait of them they had sent to the Malones weeks before Adam's death.  (It was the same one that was hanging in the "living room".  Both Roxton and Marguerite had sent them one, not knowing that other had.) They had it all figured out then.  _Why can't we figure it out now?_

She returned her gaze to the man she had once vowed to love through sickness and health…for richer or poorer…through the good times and the hard times…and wondered why it was she had promised all those things.  In the end, it hadn't made a difference.  They were still standing alone in the same room; wallowing in pain.

He waited impatiently until she finally murmured: "I don't know."  She took a deep breath, lowering her eyes to the wooden planks of the tree house and wished she could stop this conversation from happening.  

She was torn from her thoughts when he stepped in front of her and questioned in a small voice: "Do you love me?"

She saw time stand still.  She felt her heart stop beating.  She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, her thoughts jumbled like a string of Christmas tree lights.  Of course she still loved him.  She would always love him.  But she knew that wasn't what he was asking.

Apparently time hadn't stopped like she felt it had because when she finally looked up: he was gone.

End Chapter Ten

**Velma-Kelly-online**:  That was very generous of you to say I'm you're favorite author. {_embarrassed smile_} But you really mustn't lie. {_awkward chuckle_} As usual, you're review was uplifting and rather amusing (the whole bra thing was bizarre, but greatly entertaining).  And I understand what you mean about the "liking sadness" because I feel the same.  I hope you had a good night's sleep over in Germany while I was typing this over here in the US.  **SierraSunshine**:  It's always a pleasure to hear that I've got a fan.  I wouldn't keep writing if no one enjoyed my work.  So thank you so much for letting me know.  And it's ok that you couldn't review 3-9.  I promise I won't hold it against you. {_smile_}  And I'm sorry to hear that this "hits close to home".  I can only assume what you must mean and all scenarios are bad ones.  You have my condolences.  **Fab**:  I agree: my focus isn't the flashbacks so why strain myself over them?  This story isn't necessarily about Adam's death, but the after effects of it and their – as you put it – "struggle to keep the bond between them."  **LoveMR**:  Hey, if you think it "presents so much reality" then I know I'm accomplishing something here.  Thank you. 


	11. The Missing Piece

**A/N**:  Sept 13--23 I'll be gone for my brother's wedding.  Yet, he and his wife will be coming home with me before jetting off for their honeymoon.  So, chapters won't be updated as quickly all through Sept.  Yet, I tend to post _much faster_ than most authors, so I don't want to hear any complaining.  Got it?  Good.

Chapter Eleven

The Missing Piece

Utensils clinked against plates.  Fabric shuffled against wooden chairs.  Leafs swooshed against the branches.  Veronica sporadically scrutinized the tense couple across from her.  Malone glanced at his wife with concern, sending silent messages of worry.  Marguerite and Roxton ignored everything around them, staring at their plates and eating without tasting the food, but doing so in a mechanical response to the knowledge that they should be hungry: even though their stomachs felt numb.

James was already down for the night, tired from his intensely busy day of playing.  Veronica was thankful for the small miracle knowing this taut dinner would be much more awkward if the little boy were intervening into Marguerite and Roxton's private worlds.  They were both obviously in a state of dire depression and to be forced to interact with her toddler would have strained them beyond the point of sanity.

Finally Malone, a man of polished words and destined for a Pulitzer Award, said: "Nice weather we're having."  He mentally kicked himself.  _Nice weather?  NICE WEATHER?  Good God…_

Roxton mumbled an agreement.  

Marguerite didn't even blink.

Veronica smiled sympathetically at her husband's failed attempts.

Silence fell between them.

Then they all jolted, the sound of the elevator activating startling all of them out of their reveries.  Veronica leapt to her feet and dashed over, anxious to see who the intruder could possibly be.  As the lift's occupant came into view, Veronica squealed and jumped into his arms, throwing them off balanced.

"Well, Veronica, it is good to see you, too, child."  He staggered back then, squeezed her before releasing her and stepping off of the elevator.  He nodded his head at the other three who were now standing and staring at him in shock.  "Hello."

Roxton stepped forward, clapping the older man on the back.  "It's good to see you, George."  Without hesitation, he gave his dear friend a quick hug.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," Challenger said apologetically.  "I had to give a lecture for Parliament or risk loosing my grant," he professed somewhat ashamedly.  "I know it's a poor excuse, but I also didn't have the money to make the trip; the university was late sending out the paychecks this month.  I feel terrible I wasn't here."

"It's all right, George.  We understand."  Roxton moved aside so that Marguerite could embrace the professor.  "You know, George," Roxton went on, "I appreciate you could make it at all."

After embracing Marguerite and placing a father-like kiss on her cheek, he looked back at the hunter.  "I would have eventually found away no matter what.  Finn sends her condolences.  She's enrolled in a class she can't get away from.  It was horrible hearing that Christopher Burns had failed, but the bugger only had his own interests at heart."

"Whatever do you mean," Roxton inquired, his eyes naturally narrowing as they frequently did.

"To alleviate his own guilt, of course.  And undoubtedly to win world-wide fame for his achievement if he had succeeded."

"What do you mean: "alleviate his own guilt"?"

Challenger glanced between Marguerite and Roxton, his expression baffled and slightly grave.  How was it that they didn't know?  Bracing himself for the blow he was about to give them, he took a deep and said: "I heard through the grape vine that he felt secretly obliged to your family."  

"Why," Marguerite asked suspiciously.  They had only met the doctor once before he approached them at the dock and it was at Adam's funeral.  He had told them that he was a friend of the Roxtons.

"You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"He's the one who killed Adam."

End Chapter Eleven

**Spirita**: I don't know.  I can sometimes be a pretty crazy person!  I'm thrilled you like this so much.  **Velma-K-o**:  I hope you don't mind that I abbreviated your name.  Anyway, I understand what you mean about feeling like your Marguerite.  I've read stories that made me feel the character's pain, too.  And I'm so honored that you seriously feel that I'm your favorite author.  You have no idea how that makes me feel.  I honestly started writing _Lost World_ fanfic fearing that no one would like what I had to offer.  **LoveMR**:  I hope you aren't getting tired of hearing this, but THANK YOU.  **Zeusfluff**:  I appreciate the compliments.  And everyone keeps telling me it's "sad" and I'm jumping with joy: it's what I was shooting for.  **SierraSunshine**:  Lol.  One of these days you should just cry at the computer and see what your roommates do.  **TheChosenOne3**:  I understand and appreciate your anger toward the drunken bastard.  I want people to hate him!  **E1stwin**:  Wow.  I mean wow.  I didn't know fans of the story were so devoted to check multiple times a day for updates.  Thank you for letting me know.  It makes me want to write all the more!


	12. Blood on His Hands

**A/N**: I'm not from London, so I don't really know what the climate is like.  Please, give me a break if I describe the weather wrong.  

**IMPORTANT A/N**:  In case you were wondering why they didn't know Christopher Burns killed their son (also read my comment to **Velma-Kelly-online**):

Chapter Twelve

Blood on His Hands

Part One

It had begun to drizzle like it usually did in dreary London; and Lester Christopher Barns cursed, knowing the rain would eventually freeze, becoming layers of snow.  He scanned the seasoned faces of the men beside him at the bar and winced.  _What schmucks.  Here every night doin' nothin' but drinkin'._  He took another swing from his Vodka, disgusted with the old timers lingering around drinking until they were so plastered that they forgot they had had a sip and started their rounds all over again.

"Sam, another one," Barns demanded.

"Hey, Les," the bartender, Sam, called out, wiping a glass dry.  "I think you've had enough, buddy.  A doc shouldn't be drinking so much.  You don't want a malpractice on your hands, do you?"

"I's not that kinda doc-tour," Barns slurred, slamming his empty glass onto the polished countertop.  "Restearch inta the realm of…of…long-long…long-jet…longevity."

"Oh here we go," a man murmured a few stools down.

Sam shrugged, disinterested in hearing the ramble of bumbo-jumbo for the millionth time.  "I don't give a damn what kind of doctor you are, Les.  I still think you've had enough.  In fact, I know you have.  Once you can't talk straight even to babble on about your research, I know you're wasted.  Now beat it or I'll call Inspector Greene.  I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Barns grumbled.  On one very drunk evening he had confessed to the whole pub that he had slept with Inspector Henry Greene's exquisite wife.  Needless to say, when Greene got wind of it he was none-too-thrilled.  Barns slapped a few bills on the table, swaying slightly to the rhythm of his vision.  "Bloody hell," he muttered, staggering out into the frigid night air: it had began to snow.

He slid into his automobile, his hands fumbling with the key until he finally managed to slip it into the ignition.  _Damn them all_, he thought bitterly as he peeled out into the streets, not noticing the urgency to flip on his wipers.

He sped through the city, weaving from side to side.  A glare pierced through the window, causing his head to throb and his eyes to squint.  In a blur of seconds, his car was smashing into something large and metallic.  His intoxicated brain unable to register any movement, he was flung like a rag doll against the steering wheel, getting knocked out instantly.

Part Two

Groaning, he slowly grew aware of his surroundings.  He could hear the sound of tortured wailing, causing his head to split in two.  He brought his hand to his forehead and drew it back, perplexed at the sticky blood.  He glanced around him, stunned by the wreckage of his car.

Barns crawled out of his vehicle, stumbling into the cold and wincing.  He peered around him, his eyes falling on the slumped form of a sobbing man.  He was cradling something to his body.  Something small and…wearing clothes?  _Jesus Christ_, his mind screamed, gaping at the anguished man as he frantically ran a hand through a baby's blood-coated hair.

Barns watched in horror as the man threw his head up and screamed a sound that shook Barns to the core.  "Damn you," the man screeched.  "_You should've taken me_!"  He rested his head on the toddler's and began rocking the little child against his chest in sheer hopelessness and despair.  "You should have…taken…me."  

_Jesus Christ, dear Lord, no!_

Barns ran. 

End Chapter Twelve

**Spirita**: I can only post so quickly!  I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  **Velma-K-o**: Your…enthusiasm is encouraging.  Also, it's great to hear that you found the chapter title (_Missing Piece_) fitting.  I thought so myself.  Anyway, now you see why they didn't know him?  He ran from the scene so they never saw him _and_ he changed his name from _Lester Christopher Barns_ to _Christopher Burns_. **SierraSunshine**: What can I say?  I love tossing in tension!  And I'm exciting that I keep getting such devoted fans!  **LoveMR**: I guess you can call me "The Twister."  /_sigh_/ I know, that was lame and I don't know why I said it!  **Zeusfluff**: _A Child Called It_ is a story about an abused boy, but his mother only picks on him and not his brothers.  It's easy reading and kind of short.  I'm not saying you have to read it, but I think you may find it enjoyable.  **TheChosenOne3**:  That was quite an uplifting review.  I'm speechless.  No, wait, I can say thank you for the beautiful compliments: THANK YOU!


	13. Vengeance Unto Thyself

Chapter Thirteen

Vengeance Unto Thyself 

Rage flared into a fiery sphere of overwhelming wrath and the burning urge to seek brutal revenge.  In his fury, Roxton tore the room apart.   Bookshelves crashed to the floor, the books and various objects sprawling across the ground.  Tables were violently overturned.  Chairs were savagely kicked sporadically across the room.  He howled as he sliced the tree house into ribbons.

Veronica witnessed the crime to her home in horror, but terrified of intervening in the man's crusade to demolish his inner demons.  She glanced at Malone and Challenger who stared fixated on the unraveling scene in a mixture of alarm and awe.  No one noticed the eerily silent Marguerite slip apathetically into the kitchen.

Finally, Roxton collapsed to his knees and yelled: "**_DAMN YOU!_**"  He hung his head, spent and weary from his adrenaline decline.  All he wanted was to curl up in his son's grave and die.  

The man who had stolen Adam's life had maliciously robbed his grave and brought him to this God forsaken place, giving Roxton and Marguerite false hope that he could bring the child back.  This bastard had only been in it for himself: the greedy son-of-a-bitch wanted to experiment on Adam simply because the toddler had been his victim.  And Doctor Burns would have gained world recognition if he had succeeded: using Adam as his prized guinea pig.  If the truth had ever come out that he had been the one who killed Adam, he probably assumed that the Roxtons would forgive him of his sin since he "fixed it" by resurrecting their baby.

A cry from the other room sent Roxton leaping to his feet and dashing into the kitchen.  "Marguerite," he gasped, rushing to her and falling beside her on the floor.  "Oh, my darling, no, please, no," he yanked off his shirt and wrapped it around her wrists.  The cloth easily soaked through, blood smearing her clothes.

"I hate him," she sobbed, shuddering from shock.  "I hate him."

Challenger was immediately shouting orders to the others, bending down to inspect her wounds.  "They're pretty deep," he mused worriedly.  "We must stop the bleeding quickly.  Malone, boil me some water and get an iron rod.  Veronica, get me some bandages, thread, needles, and lots of pain remedies.  Roxton, carry her to your bed."

Roxton lifted Marguerite with ease, cradling her frail body to him.  "What on earth do you need an iron rod for?" Roxton inquired sharply, stepping around a tipped chair on his way to their bedroom.

Challenger peered at him gravely.  "I may have to burn her arms in order to stop the bleeding."

"Uncle George," an excited voice exclaimed.

Challenger whirled around.  "James, do Uncle George a favor and go into your room.  Don't come out until your mommy comes and gets you.  Ok?  Do you understand?"  He spotted Malone sprinting towards the old lab.  "Malone, before getting the iron rod, put James to bed."

Malone whipped around, scooped up his son, and scurried off.  "Come now, James."

In the bedroom, Roxton gently laid his trembling wife on the mattress.  "Oh, darling," he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back away from her face.  He glanced back at the professor.  "George, what can I do?"

"Hold her."

Malone and Veronica entered the room carrying the needed supplies.

Roxton crawled onto the bed behind Marguerite and straddled her between his legs, bringing her back to rest against his chest.  He placed kisses randomly on top of her dark hair, rubbing his hands in circles against her stomach.  "It's going to be all right, Marguerite.  It will.  At least we have each other."  Her pasty coloring frightened him, but he swallowed the lump in his throat.  "If you dare leave me, Marguerite, I will follow you.  Do you hear me?  I'll walk right behind you into the arms of Death."

Her glassy eyes sought him out, slowly landing on his face.  "Then," she whispered, her eyes rolling slightly back, "we'll…be…a family…again."

Tears leaked from the hunter's eyes, spilling onto the woman embraced in his arms.  "Damn it, Marguerite.  _Don't you dare_!"

"Adam," she gulped, her eyelids drooping, "is waiting…for me."

"Marguerite.  Marguerite, darling, I can't live without you.  I can't."  He squeezed his eyes shut.  _Damn it, God, you already took my son.  Don't take my wife._

"She's loosing too much blood," Challenger proclaimed.  "Ned, go place the iron rod in the fire pit.  I'm probably going to need it."

Marguerite became slack in Roxton's arms.  "Marguerite?  Marguerite!"

"Hurry up, Ned," Challenger barked.  "She's dying!"

Holding onto his still wife, Roxton wept.

End Chapter Thirteen

**Fab**:  Thank you.  I wasn't so sure if anyone would care for Dr. Burns's account.


	14. Scarred Beyond the Heart

**A/N**:  Ok, school has officially started so chapters won't be updated as quickly.  I have ten classes that are eating away at my precious down time.  Sorry, but I need the education in order to get a career in order to pay for all the things of life.  /_g_/

Chapter Fourteen

Scarred Beyond the Heart

Part One

It was enough to make any man go crazy, but Roxton shunned the desire to snap even though the pressure was mounting.  He refused to cave into the depression.  The sorrow had won over Marguerite and look where it had led her: a frail, emotionally jittery woman with her tender flesh torn and burned.  The thought of her slicing into her wrists made him shudder; and the memory of the repugnant smell of her burning flesh still violated his nose, causing his eyes to water.  In her troubled sleep, she had withered in pain, waking only to shriek as the rod was pierced into her skin.

That was three days ago and Roxton held vigil at her beside, never budging except to use the bathroom.  She awoke occasionally, disoriented and asking for Adam.  It slashed him to pieces and he never had the heart to remind her that their son was dead.

The only positive was that she couldn't feel any physical pain.  Challenger had explained to him gently: "John, I want you to understand something.  Her skin is charred and ugly, but she's not suffering.  She has third degree burns that destroyed her nerves.  She can't feel a thing.  Be thankful for that."

And he was, but he wanted more.  He wanted her well.

Roxton leaned over her, covering her more snuggly and checking her pale lips for a bluish hue.  Since the traumatic experience, she had slipped into shock numerous times and Challenger warned Roxton that one to many could result in permanent brain damage.  What the professor didn't dare utter around the distraught husband was that she may have already suffered beyond repair.

Part Two

Another grueling three days slowly ticked away.  Roxton had taken it upon himself to sponge bathe her daily, careful of the raw and hungry charcoaled skin of her wrists.  It saddened him to think that she would forever have a physical remainder of her torment.

Roxton was sliding on her blouse when he felt a feather caress against his upper arm.  Stunned, he peered down into his wife's eyes and was relieved what he saw in them: lucidness.  He smiled wanly and gingerly slipped her other hand into the arm of the blouse.  "Good afternoon, darling."  He gently laid her back against the mound of pillows and began buttoning up her shirt.  "Now you decide to wake up: after the difficult parts of washing and dressing."

Marguerite stared blankly at his fingers as they professionally buttoned her up.  When she felt a tautness and slightly painful pressure on her wrists, she glanced down and gasped.  "What happened?  Was I burned?"

"Challenger had to do it in order to stop the bleeding," Roxton murmured, refusing to look at the repulsive dead skin.  He had seen it enough.  And as her body began to heal, it looked worse.

"The bleeding?"

Roxton sighed, gazing at his wife sympathetically.  "After you slit your wrists, Marguerite.  Remember?  You were so detached after hearing about Dr. Burns/Barns – whatever the hell he calls himself – that you…you…" he indicated her wounds.

"Oh," she sounded distant and lost.

Roxton bit his lip then sat on the edge of the mattress, taking her tiny hands in his calloused ones.  He gazed at her with a soft intensity.  "I really thought I was going to lose you, Marguerite.  For a moment there I did when you had stopped breathing.  I never want to experience that again, darling.  Don't you dare ever try anything like that again.  Ever.  I couldn't live without you.  I really couldn't: not without Adam here.  Do you hear me, Marguerite?  The next time you do this, I won't hesitate to kill myself first."

Marguerite peered up at him.  "I'm sorry," her eyes filled with tears, "but I don't even know who you are."

End Chapter Fourteen

**Wishes**:  I struggled with this one.  I was debating whether or not to let her live, but I knew if I killed her then everyone would hire henchmen to slowly torture me to death.  **Fab**: Thank you so much.  I was trying to keep it realistic and the way they keep pushing each other away and yet begging for each other to stay is real life.  I'm delighted you like it so far.  **SierraSunshine**:  Holy shit.  Three times in one day?  I'm overwhelmed, but very honored.  **Zeus Fluff**:  Thank you so much, and I'm working as fast as I can.  **LoveMR**: Like I told Wishes, I had the urge to kill her, but I knew that would only be endangering my own life.  Lol.  **TheChosenOne3**: Ha, ha, ha…I've been called a 'psycho' and a 'sadistic bitch' many times, but 'sadistic psycho' is a new one.  Lol.  I love it!  And you can call the 'funny farm' regardless as to how this ends because my mom's always telling me that it is my real home. /g/


	15. Loving a Stranger

Chapter Fifteen

Loving a Stranger

Part One

Roxton staggered back, clutching his shirt over his chest.  _How much more can we take?_  "What do you mean you don't know who I am?  Marguerite…it's me: Lord John Roxton," he looked around for some sort of sign.  Finding no answers in the room, his disturbed eyes settled on the woman once more.  "I'm your husband, Marguerite.  Surely you can remember me?"

She peered intensely, wistfully at him.  "I…no…I'm sorry, Lord Roxton.  I can't…I can't remember you."  She glanced around her, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she scanned the bedroom.  "Where am I?  This isn't a hospital."

"No, it's the tree house."  He stood rigid: afraid that if he moved it would shatter the calm.  "We lived here for five years while trapped on this plateau in South America.  Our friends, Veronica and Ned Malone, still live here with their son, James.  Come on, Marguerite, something has to spark your memory."  He was growing desperate, his voice straining and cracking.  "The Challenger Expedition, Marguerite; you funded it."

"You mean I _purposely_ came here," she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the wooden planks of the wall.  "I may not remember who I am, Lord Roxton, but I know this dingy place isn't suited for me.  It isn't suited for anyone!  And you claim people still _live_ here?"

"John, Marguerite, please…call me John."

"I'll call you what the bloody damn hell I please, mister."  She scowled, swinging her legs off the bed and planting them on the floor.  A wave of immense dizziness swept through her and she swayed, crumbling back onto the mattress.  "What is wrong with me?"

"You've lost a substantial amount of blood."  He cautiously stepped forward, lifting up the blanket and draping it securely over her.  "And your body's suffered quite a few traumatic experiences in the last few days.  Please, darling, try and get some rest.  Maybe you'll feel better after you get some sleep."

"Darling?"

"Yes, I told you: we're married.  We've been married for five years now.  We were wed here on the plateau during our third year trapped here.  Two years later we found our way off.  We've been spending the last three years in London."

She regarded him coolly, not fully trusting his implausible story.  "Do we have any children?"

He gulped, peering down sullenly at the ground, tears glistening in his eyes.  He had feared that she would inquire of children.  His heart caught in his throat: _What should I tell her?_  He looked up at her to see her staring at him oddly.  _You need to tell the truth, dear old boy.  It would hurt more if you wait._

"Well," he shifted his weight.  "We had a little boy named Adam.  He died a little more than half a year ago."

"How?" she breathed.

Roxton glanced away.  "Automobile accident."

Marguerite gazed transfixed on the broad, somber man with haunted eyes and felt her heart constrict.  Somehow she knew that his ludicrous tale was true, her eyes brimming with foreign tears.  She couldn't recall her son's face, but she didn't doubt that he was as handsome as his father.  "John, did-did he suffer?"

"No," he lied fluidly.  It was the same lie that he had told her when she'd first asked that question seven months ago on a snow-covered road.  He had held his son as he died and though the child hadn't been crying, John had seen the pain and fear laced in his innocent brown eyes.  That was one thing he could be grateful for: Adam had passed quickly – not having to feel the torment for long.

Roxton jerked out of his reverie.  "I should get Challenger – he'll know more about what's going on."

"Challenger?  As in the Challenger Expedition you mentioned?"

Roxton gave her charming smile (even if hidden beneath it was sorrow).  "You do have a sharp memory, Marguerite.  Yes, the one and the same Professor George Edward Challenger.  He's a dear friend of ours.  Now I know I told you to rest, but I think George should have a look at you first.  I'll be right back, darling."  He slipped from the room in hunt of the professor, leaving Marguerite to stare after him.

"Well, he's attractive," she murmured to herself.  "I did good there."

Part Two

She had found Challenger to be delightful: so full of energy and respect as he modestly examined her wounds and memory.  He had left her to attend to her bed a few hours ago and after her fitful sleep she lay awake peering around the room, her stomach growling.  "What does one have to do to get some food around here," she mused quietly.

"Knock, knock, Marguerite.  I hop you're decent."  Roxton strolled dynamically into the room carrying a tray.  "Then again, it's not like I would've minded if you weren't," he teased, placing the tray on the dresser beside the bed.  He reached out, placing a warm hand over her forehead.  "Good, you're not feverish.  Challenger worried that you may come down with something considering your…uh…I don't remember all the scientific mumbo-jumbo.  The dear old man is brilliant and that's all I need to know."

He was a charming, adorable, lively man and Marguerite found herself smiling in spite of her desire to remain passive to this rugged stranger.  "So what did you bring me, Lord Roxton?  It better be tasteful."

He gave a mock bow, leaning over and retrieving the bowl off the tray.  "Well, my lady, only the best this plateau has to offer for you."  He scooped the wooden spoon into the bowl and lifted it up to her mouth.  "Now try this fine cuisine, Lady Roxton.  It'll surely perk you right up."

Marguerite hesitated then wrapped her mouth around the utensil.  The soup was delicious: sweet and earthy.  "Mm, this is good, John.  I wouldn't go as far as to call it divine, but it does hit the spot."  He offered more and she gladly took it, not noticing his crooked eyebrows until she looked back up at him.  "What is it?"

"Are you meaning to tell me that you, Marguerite, actually like this soup?"

"Yes, why?"

He barked a laugh, slapping his knee with the hand that held the spoon.  "Oh, I've got you now, darling!  All the years we lived here you wrinkled your cute little nose at this soup.  It was an act all along!"  Still chuckling, he fed her more.  "You are always full of surprises, Marguerite.  It's no wonder I love you so."

They both froze, staring at each other with unease.  Roxton cleared his throat, handing the bowl to her.  "I…uh…" he sighed.  "Oh what the bloody hell, darling, we are married!  This is silly.  Of course I love you so let's condemn this awkward nonsense."  He reached around her, fluffing up the pillows to distract him self.

Marguerite gazed at him hovering over her and sensed a tension that shouldn't be there: as though this is how they would act even if she remembered him.  "Our marriage is a strained one, isn't it," she observed quietly.  "Why is that?  Because of Adam?"

"Because I killed him," he snapped.  "I was driving that night.  I didn't use his car seat like you had told me to.  Since his death, nothing as been the same between us.  Your amnesia has brought us closer than we have ever been these last seven hellish months."

"At least we are healing," she whispered.

"No," he retorted harshly.  "It'll all fall apart again once you regain your memory.  We'll be back where we started."  He got up and stormed out of the room. 

End Chapter Fifteen

**Wishes**:  Lol.  Don't worry, I don't want it to last too long either.  And it cracks me up about your second review (name error/DO like twist error).  **ZeusFluff**:  And you can keep hoping for the best!  **TheChosenOne3**:  I could always make things more hellish…/_evil chuckle_/ Anyway, your review was very…inspiring…and…_hilarious_!  I always look forward to them.  **LoveMR**:  I'm glad you approve.  /_smiles_/ And I'm writing as fast as my schooling, work, and friends will allow!  (God, I'm so busy!)  **SierraSunshine**: Hey now, everything will be ok.  Take a few deep breaths and…relax.  (All right, maybe not _everything_ will be ok…)  **Fab**:  What can I say?  I can be a very cruel person!       


	16. Foothold

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**:  There is an attached apology letter at the very bottom.

Chapter Sixteen

Foothold

Part One

Lord John Roxton – once a cheerful and spirited man – was slumped on the elegantly carved maple swing, squinting against the spray of the early spring rain as his bare feet sunk further into the grass, the chilling mud seeping between his toes.  The skies grew angrier, releasing a sharp shrill of thunder before igniting the sky with a brilliant display of lightning.  He didn't flinch.  Instead, he sighed and bowed his head until his chin rested against his chest.  In the distance he heard the squawking of his name being carried against the slashing wind and he cringed.

_All right_, he reasoned, _it isn't squawking.  I just want to be left the bloody hell alone_.

"Roxton," the voice was closer, clearer.  "What are you doing out here in the rain?  You're going to get sick."

Roxton wanted to ignore his friend and slip back into the depths of his mind, but sulking wasn't one of his better attributes.  He forced a smile, pushing himself into a stiff stance.  "I was only thinking."  He shied from eye contact and – weighted with remorse – he staggered the rest of the way to the tree house.

Ned Malone was hot on his heels, studying the older man with silent concern.  It wasn't enough to lose his son, but fate had decided to steal his wife away as well: or at least her mind.  "John," the reporter prodded gently.  "Perhaps if you take her back to London…to doctors…"

"No," Roxton snapped, shaking his head vehemently.  "I don't ever want to go back to London again!  I hate that bloody place!"  He viciously whacked a chair.  "Marguerite will get well here: away from the malicious eyes of society!"  He slammed his foot against a bucket of water, which toppled over.  "The reporters who dig their claws into your personal lives like scavengers!"  He punched a picture off the wall.  "The gouging of shrinks whose only purpose in life is to pry into your deepest emotions, piercing through your agony like a hot iron rod!"

Malone flung his arms around the angered man stopping him from tearing apart Veronica's latest painting.  "Calm yourself, Roxton!  You've been so high-strung since you've gotten here!  How do you ever suppose Marguerite to get better if you yourself can't show more restraint and compassion!"

Roxton didn't struggle against Malone, but instead grew weary and crumbled to the wooden floor, pressing his palms into his eyes.  He was exhausted, tired from the pain and rage he held so tightly to his heart.  "I can't help it, Ned," he moaned.

Malone, who hadn't let go, sadly sighed.  "You lost your son, John.  Do you want to lose your wife, too?"

A sob escaped him.  "No," he groaned.  "No.  I love her.  I really love her."

"Then you need to tell her," Malone ordered sharply.  "Snap out of your self-pity!  You're marriage isn't going to last another year if you don't stop this damn nonsense and take care of your wife!  Adam's dead, Roxton and I'm sorry; I know it hurts, but this is getting childish!  Marguerite needs you now more than ever: are you going to let her down?"

Roxton was ready with a bitter retort, but clasped his tongue, contemplating his words.  "You surprise me, Ned.  I never took you for one to be so hotheaded."

"Well you know me, I'm usually calm and soft-spoken, but there's one thing I could never handle: my family or friends being hurt."  He sat back, shrugging his shoulders.  "I know I'm a lot younger, but keep in mind that I have a family, too.  I know what I'm talking about."

"I can't help but to always view you as the little lad with the pure heart and wild urge to write the most adventurous story."  Roxton smiled, softly slapping Malone on the back.  "You came here to prove your love to a woman who didn't love you in return.  How innocent is that?"

Malone chuckled.  "Boy, was I naïve and fool hearted back then."

"And now look who is," Roxton pointed out.  "At least when you were fool hearted it was cheerful and delightful.  I, on the other hand, have been dark and foreboding.  But, damn it old man, you're right.  I can't bring Adam back.  But I can try and keep Marguerite from leaving."

"That's the spirit!"  Challenger came bounding into the room.  "Uh, I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "but it was near impossible not to overhear your conversation."  He set a vial of mysterious green liquid on the table, slipping his hands into his vest pockets.  "But what if Marguerite wants to go back to the city?"

"I don't," a voice demanded.  Marguerite stepped out of her bedroom, staggering slightly – still not easy on her feet.  "I don't remember London, but I doubt I liked it."

Roxton rolled his eyes.  "You say that now, but when we were lost here all you cared about was finding your way back to London."

"Shut up, Lord Roxton.  I don't want to hear it from you."

Roxton barked a laugh, climbing up from the floor.  "God, see what I have to put up with?"

"Whatever, John."  She lowered herself onto a chair.  "Now be a dear and make me some soup."

"Yes, ma'am."

End Chapter Sixteen

**SierraSunshine**: I hope this lowered your stress level.  Lol.  Thanks for hanging in there.  **Wishes**: Sorry, but I kept you waiting.  And don't worry: typos come with the privilege of computers.  **LoveMR**:  I'm glad you're understanding.  **Fab**: I'm thrilled you enjoyed the slight touch of humor.  I figured it was time to add a bit in.  **TheChosenOne3**: She wouldn't be Marguerite if she didn't get caught in lies.  Lol.  **Barbiedahl**: Thanks for your review.  I'm glad you're liking it, even though it made you cry.  **Obi-Wan'sPadawan**: It's ok if you're a bit confused.  Just be aware that this is an AU, so not everything correlates with the show anyway.  **Zeusfluff**: I hope you didn't give up on me!  **Spirita**: I hope to get it wrapped up soon.  I'll try to do it quickly.  Thanks for hanging in there.  **Shorty**: I'm working on their relationship, I promise!  **MadgeSmith**: I'm glad you reviewed.  It's always nice to hear from old and new reviewers.  Sorry it took awhile.

**DEAR READERS**,

Sorry this took so long, but I've been ill.  I know that's not much of an excuse.  It's been over a month since the last chapter was posted.  I'll try and not make installments so far apart, but I can't guarantee anything.  I'm still under the care of physicians.  Sorry.  I feel terrible for leaving you all hanging.  It wasn't very considerate of me.  And I know there must be a ton of typing errors, but I'm exhausted.  Forgive me.

Angel LeeAnn 


	17. Bittersweet

Chapter Seventeen

Bittersweet

The tree house was quiet.  The Malones and Challenger had gone for a weekend visit at the Zangas', giving the Roxtons some personal space.  As the sun seeped over the horizon, Roxton and Marguerite were lounging on the deck's cushioned bench picking at a tray of fruit nestled between them.  Marguerite stretched her feet out, her toes grazing his thighs.  "It's beautiful here," she mused.  "I know when I first woke up I complained about this place, but…it grows on you rather quickly."

Roxton chuckled; squirming until his legs were sprawled straight across, pressed between her side and the back of the bench.  "If only you remembered how much you hated this place."  He grasped one of her feet, dragging it closer and resting it on his chest.  "You were a constant complainer, my darling."  He massaged the tip of her toes, working his way down to her ankle.  "And obsessed with diamonds."

"Diamonds," her eyes lit up.  "Who can blame a girl for loving diamonds?"  His fingers gently dug into the soft flesh of her foot and she giggled, twisting her foot away from him and in the process knocking the tray of fruit off.  "That tickles, John."

He froze, his eyes burning into hers with a merging of a thousand emotions.  Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, but his expression was more delightfully shocked than sad.  "My God," he whispered, stunned.  "I've almost forgotten how beautiful that sound is."

"What sound?"

"Your laugh.  I haven't heard you laugh in so long."  He got onto his knees, straddling her calves, and leaned forward, cupping her cheek.  "I've missed that sound, Marguerite.  I've missed it more than I realized until now.  Please forgive me.  Forgive me for not making you laugh sooner."

She ducked her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.  "John…I…I want to forgive you, but will it mean anything?  I don't even remember you."

He gingerly lifted her face towards him.  "It will mean everything to me, Marguerite."

"Then I forgive you."

Their eyes melted into each other's and they both caught their breaths; staring at one another and feeling the tension sweep in.  An invisible tug wound itself around them and Roxton leaned in slightly, bending his head by a hair's breadth, never breaking eye contact with the woman who watched him with exposed emotions of fear and yearning. 

She tilted her head slightly – unconsciously.  She leaned forward gradually, his lips beckoning her.  Her mouth cracked open, a sigh escaping as he leaned closer and his warm breath caressed her lips.  All thought vanished as the last centimeters between them disappeared and his lips cascaded over hers, starting tenderly and burning her inside.  She wrapped her arms around him, tangling her hands into his hair and pressing him closer.

He groaned, embracing her and clutched her body to him, pulling her down on top of him.  His mouth devoured hers and he licked his tongue over her lips, begging for her to open her mouth.  Her slender hands tore his dress shirt from his trousers and then slipped her hands underneath, caressing his chest.  His eyes flew open and he gasped, struggling to breathe.

Marguerite jolted from his sudden breathing attack, yanking her self away from him.  "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he gulped.  "I just…you just…we haven't…it's been a long time, Marguerite."

"Wha-oh," she glanced away embarrassed.  "I see."  She fidgeted in her seat before finally leaping up and bending down to retrieve the scattered fruit.  "Challenger showed me a few of his inventions today."

Roxton shook his head, still reeling from the kiss.  "What?  Marguerite," he grasped her wrist, stilling her.  He didn't have to say more.  He saw the answer engraved in her eyes.  She didn't want him.  He slowly released his hold, looking away.  "Must've been interesting," he forced as causally as possible.

She nodded, heading for the kitchen with the tray of fruit.  "It was…sort of.  Most of it went right over my head."

"Yeah.  Well," Roxton scrambled to his feet.  "I'm going to bed.  Sweet dreams, darling.  See you in the morning."  He quickly vanished into his room.

Marguerite watched him disappear, her eyes brimming with tears.

End Chapter Seventeen

**Velma-K-O**:  I briefed your name: hope you don't mind.  Anyway, thank you a million for your sweet review.  You truly are too kind.  And some day I may take you up on that offer.  Say, when are you going to update _Love Hurts_?  **LoveMR**: Thank you so much.  And, yeah, amnesia or no amnesia I think she would still be "sunny". smiles **Zeusfluff**: Aw, that is so sweet.  But I'm afraid that my medical conditions are much more serious than the flu.  Yet, I'm glad you are supportive.  **TheChosenOne3**: On the day I received your review I was feeling blue, but you lifted my mood.  Thank you so much.  **Fab**: Thank you for your email.  It was sweet of you.

**DEAR READERS**,

I can't tell you how much your reviews and support have meant to me.  I truly am sorry I'm not as fast posting chapters as I used to be.  I know it annoys me when people take a long time so it's hypocritical for me to do it.  Yet, I want you all to know that it isn't on purpose.  I love writing.  I wish I could do it always.  But circumstances out of my control have arisen and chapters will be sporadic.  Sorry.

Angel LeeAnn


	18. Healing

Chapter Eighteen

Healing

Part One

It was too much for her to handle.  Marguerite donned on her boots and escaped to the woods, surrounding herself with the trees – away from Roxton and his despair.  He wanted her to remember, but she wanted to remain innocently blissful.  Why dredge up the past if it was only going to hurt her?  Why reminisce on a son who no longer lived?

Marguerite, still weak, didn't get far before collapsing onto the ground, dirt painting the back of her skirt.  She glanced down, her eyes catching on the sight of her ugly, charred skin and she shrieked.  Why was God doing this to her?  Frustrated, she clawed at her hair, sobbing.  

She didn't know who she was except for a wife of a damaged man and a mother of a dead little boy.  Did her existence even matter?  Was she loved by anyone?

John. 

The one simple thought quieted her crying.  "John," she murmured, thinking back to the kiss.  Suddenly, she felt calm and refreshed.  John loved her.  He had to love her.  She was his wife.

Part Two

For the last two hours, Roxton lay perfectly still on his bed, his eyes closed.  He listened to the calming noises of the wild, focuses on the nocturnal birds' songs in order to draw his memories away.  A whooshing sound brought his attention to the door and he squinted in the dark until the shape of a woman became clear.

"Marguerite," he whispered hoarsely, tiredly.  "Having trouble sleeping?"  He hoisted himself up until his back was firmly against the headboard.  She only continued to stand there, her face illuminated by the pale moonlight.  "Marguerite?  Darling, is something wrong?"

She hesitantly, silently stepped forward.  "John," her voice was silk.  "When did you fall in love with me?"

A tentative grin appeared on his lips and he patted the mattress beside him, inviting her to snuggle in.  "You were enchanting from the beginning.  You with your cunning, breathtaking smile and luminous, large eyes and sharp, intellectual mind; entrapped me from day one."

Marguerite, nestled against his side, smiled bashfully.  "You're not so bad yourself, Lord Roxton."  She cleared throat, staring him straight in the eye.  "But when did you fall in love with me?"

"To be honest, I've fallen in love with you over and over again.  Yet, the first time, the time I realized it for what it was, was when Druids who wanted to sacrifice you tore you away from me.  It was during our first year, only a couple months stranded.  We were mapping a series of caves, searching for a way off the plateau.  You were busy collecting gemstones.  We were caught off guard.  After they carried off, I knew I would stop at nothing to save you.  And then…and then we got you back…and you took that leap of faith.  I'll never forget the terror of watching you take that step off the cliff, fire nearly licking your hair."

Marguerite concentrated, but failed at conjuring up the memory.

"Yet, I also fell in love with you every time you smiled or called my name or," he nudged her, "used your manipulation skills to get us out of trouble.  Then of course I fell in love with you when you agreed to marry me.  And on our wedding day, love couldn't describe how I felt.  Then there was the day you told me you were pregnant.  And then one day, my heart burst – seeing you holding our son for the first time.  So you see, Marguerite, I've fallen in love with you a million times and I'll continue to do so forever."

Marguerite, nearly choking on a sob, lips quivering, wrapped her arms securely around herself.  "I wish I could remember, John.  I want to remember when I first fell in love with you.  I want to remember the day you asked me to be your wife.  I want to remember our wedding.  I want to remember being pregnant.  I want to remember Adam.  I want to remember everything about us." 

"You will, Marguerite.  It'll come back to you.  I promise."  He embraced her, pulling her tight against him, the smell of her intoxicating.  "But maybe you needed some time to forget…time to heal…maybe this was all for the best.  It's definitely brought us closer."

She released a bent-up sigh, burying her face into the crook of his neck.  "I hope so.  I may not recall our past, but I know why I loved you."

"Do you love me now?"

"I would like to think so, but I hardly know you.  Yet…somehow…yes.  Yes, I do.  It's like a whisper…a long forgotten memory of a previous life…but I know I'm meant to love you.  It's like it was…destined."  A moment slipped by before she chuckled.  "Listen to me: being mushy and sounding ridiculous."

"You don't sound ridiculous to me," he murmured.  He titled her head up towards him.  "At least I hope loving me doesn't sound ridiculous."

"It doesn't."  Then she leaned up and kissed him.

End Chapter Eighteen

The episode mentioned was _Out of Time_.

**Keys3303**: (Your Chapter Sixteen Review): Wow.  It's shocking that you read this twice.  And it's nice to know that someone has an idea of what I'm going through health wise.  (Your Chapter Seventeen Review): At least they kissed, right?  That's a step forward.  

**SiearraSunshine**: (Your Chapter Sixteen Review): Your review made me smile.  (Your Chapter Seventeen Review): I didn't think that chapter would make anyone cry.  /Here's a tissue/.  

**Spirita**: I won't let you die in your 'own lake of tears'!  I'll save you!  

**LoveMR**: Roxton's trying his best, but I may change that…  

**Wishes**: She'll get her memory fully restored…I think…  

**ZeusFluff**: You're so sweet.  /smiles/ And I noticed you added me to favorites.  I'm honored. 

**E1stwin**: Thank you for the prayer.  

**TheChosenOne3**: But can he pass the test?  Anyway, thanks for the offer.  I appreciate it.  I may even cash in on it sometime.  By the way, I noticed you added me to favorites.  Wow.  What an honor.  

**Velma-K-O**:  As soon as I see that a review is from you I can't help but feel uplifted.  And, yeah, as much as people want them getting together, it would be too soon and too much for Marguerite.  But they're making progress!  Anyway, let me know when you update.  

**Fab**:  Oops, maybe I didn't explain it well enough. Marguerite _was_ willing, but then she got nervous and withdrew.  That's why she started picking up the fruit.  And Roxton, being a gentleman, didn't want to push.  Sorry for the confusion.  

**Clux**: Thank you so much, Clux.  And I'm glad you thought it was depressing – it was supposed to be! (And thanks for the _Paybacks_ review, too.)


	19. Epilogue

(Very Short) Epilogue

The sun glided through the cracks of the blinds, settling over the room in patches of light.  The birds greeted the dawn, chirping and squawking their good mornings.  Marguerite groaned under her breath and stretched out the kinks that had developed over night.  She flopped her right hand over the side of the bed and her other across the bed.  She jolted as her left arm hit something harder than the mattress: Roxton.

In a rush, the previous night swept over her and a small smiled crept over her mouth.  They had cuddled into the ungodly hours of the night, discussing their future.  Things weren't perfect in their lives, but last night had proven to them that there were things worth fighting for.

Marguerite rolled onto her stomach, half-on him and half-off him with her right leg sprawled over his torso.  She allowed a well-manicured finger to glide down his nose and trace the outline of his desirable lips.  She snickered when he attempted to blow the offending finger away.  Amused, she let her finger travel delicately along his jaw line.

"What do you want from me," he demanded, his eyes still closed.

"I just thought you'd like to feel it."

"Feel what?  All I want to experience at the moment is something wonderful called sleep.  You used to understand what that meant very well."

Marguerite grabbed his nearest hand and yanked it down between their pressed bodies.  "Can you feel it?"

Roxton grumbled, cracking open his lids and squinting against the morning light.  The bright rays were reflecting off the crystals and mirror, blinding the occupants on the bed.  He shifted slightly to be able to look blurry-eyed at his wife.  "No.  I don't feel a thing.  Can I go back to…_Whoa_!"

Marguerite beamed.  "See, she's quite the kicker."

"She?  Who said it was a she?"

"John," she scolded, "you said you'd like to have a little girl."

Roxton nodded limply.  "Sure.  I don't care as long the baby is healthy."

Marguerite grinned.  It was still awe-inspiring that only six months ago they had begun to heal while reconnecting on the plateau.  After finally making love after a five-month absence, Marguerite found herself pregnant.  At first they were torn over the baby, not wanting to replace Adam.  Yet, it wasn't long after they first felt the baby moving inside her that they had come to realize that no one would ever replace Adam in their hearts, but a new baby could help them replace the pain with newfound love.

**NOTE**:  Not quite the ending you were all expecting, eh?  Yeah, a bit short, sappy, and rushed.  Live with it!!  /smiles/

End Story

**LoveMR**:  What are _you_ thanking _me_ for?  I should be thanking you for all the wonderful reviews you've sent!

**TheChosenOne3**:  I'll try not to forget it.  Lol.  No, honestly, I could never forget.  I hope you continue to like my stories.  Thank you for all the reviews.

**Keys3303**:  Sorry that you didn't get to read a chapter on her regaining her memory.

**Wishes**:  I hope you liked it, but if you didn't I understand.  This epilogue was rushed. 

**SierraSunshine**:  I can't help but smile at all your reviews.

**Zeus Fluff**:  You're so sweet.  Thank you very much.

**Fab**:  Ah!  Don't hate me for this ending!  I'll do better next time.


End file.
